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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29799078">Needles &amp; Bookends</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacki_mac/pseuds/jacki_mac'>jacki_mac</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Marvel Cinematic Universe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Daddy Issues (lol they say to write what you know), F/F, F/M, Fluff, Heartbreak, M/M, Maaaaaybe Smut??? TBD, Mutual Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Tattoo Artist Bucky Barnes, Tattoo Artist Sam Wilson, Tattoo Artist Steve Rogers, Tattooed Bucky Barnes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 17:20:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,570</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29799078</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacki_mac/pseuds/jacki_mac</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: She dances through the towering isles like she’s practicing for the ballet. The air around her seems to shimmer as the tail of her skirt sweeps behind her floating form. But there’s an air of mystery that surrounds her gentle figure as she floats from step to step like water droplets landing softly on flower petals. She is poised and swift but smart and radiant. She’s like… like a fairy. I want to breathe in her shimmer and sheen and brush my hands across her halo of curls. </p><p>But she is untouchable, and it seems... that I am unlovable.</p><p>{aka Reader owns a bookstore with a big front window and Bucky is a tattoo artist who’s in love with her but has never read the classics.}</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>64</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Outsiders (Looking In)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Tags: slow burn, bucky x reader, tattooartist!bucky x bookstore!reader, hard. core. pining, sam bullying bucky, steve being sappy, ???cursing???, some sexy thoughts **i am a sinner**, quirky, lovable, wise, old, gay man</p><p>**also this is a Natasha HATE FREE zone, she merely fit the role of "hottie heartbreaker"**</p><p>(this is one of my TOP THREE all time favorite fanfic tropes so i knew i had to make it the subject for my first series. This is actually the first story i wrote for this account and the first fanfic i’ve written to completion… ever. Soooo hopefully y’all enjoy!!!)</p><p>****also also i finished writing this at 3 am please don't crucify my grammar. i am but a humble, dyslexic, insomniac*****</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~</p><p>Royal blue with lily petals. She hasn’t worn this one in a while, but it’s still one of my favorites. The contrast of the deep blue against her skin is elegant. I love the way the skirt whips in the wind as a cyclist rolls past her on the street.</p><p>The sun has just begun to peak out over our building and so the early rays of sunlight bathe her in an incandescent glow. She balances on tippy-toes in order to untangle the delicate wind chimes that hang above her shop door. They must have gotten tangled during the storm last night.</p><p><em>Oh, thank god for the storm, </em>Bucky thinks.</p><p>Because of said storm,<em> she</em> had to take all her outdoor signs into the shop for the night. Which means Bucky gets to catch her in her routine that goes on a bit longer than usual this morning. She’s finished fixing the wind-chimes and now moves on to restocking the books for her outdoor, communal library. </p><p>Bucky wasn’t sure what the odd little house shaped box mounted to her storefront was, at first. Until one late afternoon he was locking up the tattoo shop when he spotted a seemingly snot nosed teenaged boy poking around the little box before snagging a book and walking off.</p><p>Bucky, ever the crusader for justice, immediately stormed up to the kid and asked him what kind of person could steal a book. Especially from such a kind, gentle and beautiful soul such as <em>her</em>… Although he left that last bit out. That’s when the kid replied, scared out of his wits by the former soldier, “<em>It- it- it’s NOT stealing, I SWEAR… It’s just the community library.” </em></p><p>At first Buck wasn’t having any of what he thought was such a lame excuse for robbing you blind. But then the kid explained the concept, where anyone can take a book or leave a book in order to promote reading and kindness in the neighborhood. Bucky had to hold in what would have been an audible croon at the idea that you were trying to take care of the community.</p><p>Ever since that encounter, Bucky’s been watching out for your community library like a hawk. He doesn’t think anyone in the area is dumb enough to try and rob someone or vandalize anything with three ex-military lurking around. <em>But better safe than sorry,</em> Bucky thinks. Wading deep in his thoughts, Bucky almost misses her writing up the quote of the day. </p><p><em>This</em> is Bucky’s favorite part.</p><p>Every morning she pulls out a little plastic pail, like one might use to build sandcastles on the beach, full of chalk and wipes away the existing quote from the a-frame, chalkboard sign before writing up a new one. She does this every morning, without fail, and she never seems to miss the mark. At least not in Bucky’s eyes.</p><p>He leans forward, his forehead nearly touching the window he’s studying her through. He’s trying to soak in every minuscule but magical moment of her dress draping over her legs as she hovers down and pulls out a piece of chalk. Her arms move with such precision and strength and Bucky can’t stop his thoughts from wandering down a more sinful path as she pulls her hair over one shoulder and exposes the seamless nape of her neck to his gaze.</p><p>“Aye, creeping on your future wife again?”</p><p>And just as Bucky begins to truly get lost in the world where she lives in daydreams with him, Sam slaps his hands down on Bucky’s shoulders and leans in to observe the untouchable woman.</p><p>“I don’t even know the woman’s <em>name</em>. Which makes it kind of hard to plan on her being my future <em>anything,” </em>Bucky mutters and turns to give him an exasperated look.</p><p>“That’s cause you’re <em>not</em> planning,” Sam shakes Bucky, trying to knock his good sense back into place, “If you tried getting off your ass and out of your little mopey hole I’m sure you’d be <em>screamin’</em> her name by now.”</p><p>Bucky turns away in disgust at Sam’s crassness towards the golden girl, only to see her form has disappeared back into the shop and he’s missed the rest of her calming routine. Grunting in frustration he walks towards the front desk to try and escape Sam, who only continues to buzz in Bucky’s ear like an incessant gnat.</p><p>“C’mon man, you’ve been givin’ her those little puppy dog eyes for almost three months. It’s time to quit being a lazy dumbass and just go ask for her number already!”</p><p>Sam knows he’s a broken record with this whole <em>“Bucky pining after the little bookshop girl” </em>tear, but he just wants the guy to be happy. After that stupid bitch Natalie or whatever her name was (Sam doesn’t make an effort to remember stupid bitch’s names) broke Bucky’s heart, all he’s done is sulk around the shop and make goo-goo eyes at the gorgeous shop-owner across the street. Now Sam doesn’t know the woman, but he likes to think he’s a pretty good judge of character. And from what he’s heard and seen, she’s smart, kind, and <em>way </em>out of Bucky’s league. But even if the girl tells him to kick rocks at least the guy's put himself back out there.</p><p>Bucky simply ignores Sam as best he can and tries to distract himself by organizing artist samples when Steve walks in carrying a tray of coffees from the café down the street.</p><p>Steve’s not even in the shop for all of five seconds when Sam marches up to him, plucks a coffee from the tray and points back to Bucky, “Steve, will you tell Bucky he’s being a colossal dumbass?” Bucky groans loudly, but keeps his head buried in the binders filled with tiny, laminated sketches. </p><p>“Hey Steve! Thanks for the coffee Steve! My morning’s been great, how about your's Steve?” Steve mockingly asks himself while Sam just stares at him blankly, clearly still waiting for a partner in his crusade against the resident “dumbass”.</p><p>“Jesus, why do you two <em>still</em> act like damned children, pointin’ fingers and callin’ each other names? You’ve been friends for five years. Can you both just grow up already so I can stop raising you?” Steve then meanders over to the worn leather couch that sits to the left of the front desk before plopping down. Bucky and Sam hang their heads in slight shame for their childishness before both murmuring apologies.</p><p>Steve lets out a big sigh, “<em>Thank you...</em>Now,” he takes a small sip, “what dumbass thing was Bucky doing?”</p><p>Sam lets out a boisterous cackle while Bucky raises his arms in a “<em>what in the fuckery”</em> type of astonishment.</p><p>“HA. OKAY. SO. HE-,” Steve winces and raises a hand in a silent plea for Sam to tone down the theatrics, as it is still eight in the morning. “<em>Soooorry….</em>Okay. <em>Sooo...” </em>He moves to sit beside Steve on the couch before continuing, “Don’t you think it’s time for our good friend James,” Bucky throws him a sharp look, “Our <em>sub-par friend </em>Bucky, to climb out of that mopey hole of his and finally make a move on that cutie across the street?”</p><p>Bucky tries to take the opportunity, while Steve’s head is turned towards Sam, to slink out of the room and escape the inevitable heart-warming Steve speech of “missed opportunities” and “fairytale endings”. But before he can even get three steps back-</p><p>“Buck…” <em>Damn it.</em></p><p>“Don’t you think this would be a good fresh start for you? What if you’re missing out on your chance at a happy ending here,” Steve starts to get up from the couch and wanders over to the front window.</p><p>
  <em>Damn you Sam.</em>
</p><p>“Now, I’m not gonna bully you into doing anything because I’m your <em>friend,” </em>Steve throws a pointed look at Sam who lazily rolls his eyes, “but all I really want is for you to be happy.”</p><p>Bucky can see over Steve’s shoulder that the woman of the hour is about to have her first customer as an older gentleman, one of her regulars, walks towards the bookshop door.</p><p>“And I know that you’ve taken chances before and you’ve been hurt… before…,” Steve pauses for a moment as Bucky tucks in his chin and grits his teeth.</p><p><em>Everyone</em> remembers how beaten down Bucky was after Nat broke his heart. He’d never been so in love before. Honestly, he’s not sure if he’d been in love <em>at all</em> before her. But God did he love Natasha, and so it tore him apart when she’d admitted to him that she didn’t love him back.</p><p>Or rather <em>couldn’t. </em>Key word. She said she “<em>couldn’t” </em>love him back.</p><p>In order to keep himself from caving inward entirely at the possibility that no one could <em>ever </em>love him back, Bucky pulled the curtains closed around his heart. He told himself, “<em>If you don’t open up again, you can’t get hurt again.”</em> And so, for the past two years he’s been more concerned with self-preservation than pursuing any <em>opportunities</em> presented to him.</p><p>“But I have a <em>pretty</em> good feeling about this one.”</p><p>Steve's voice brings him back out from behind the curtains and Bucky looks up to see him smiling at a sight across the street. A sight that makes your bones settle into your skin better. A sight that pulls up the corner of your eyes in pre-emptive joy. A sight that just warms up your whole soul from the crown of your head to the tips of your toes. At least, that’s how it feels for Bucky.</p><p>Before the older gentleman can even step into the shadow of the shop awning, the resident angel swings the door wide open and holds out an arm to help escort the man over the lip of the entryway. All the while smiling, making conversation and just gliding through the warm spring air.</p><p>It’s quiet in the shop for a few moments as they all stop to watch and bask in her clean and pure joy. Bucky sees her embrace the man. He wants to be held like that. He wants to be held by her.</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>Sam and Steve look back to him with quizzical brows.</p><p>“I’m gonna make my move,” Bucky mutters as he snatches the remaining coffee out of the tray. </p><p>Sam begins whooping and hollering, but Steve simply shoots him a proud smile. One of those smiles only lifelong friends can share when they've seen each other at their best and at their worst. When one friend sees the other pull themselves out of the pits of the worst and march towards the best. Because that's what the friend always wants for them; the best.</p><p>"ALRIGHTY THEN," Sam, oblivious to his volume once again, jumps up and raises his coffee cup in cheers, “Here’s to Bucky’s balls!”</p><p>~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~</p><p>It’s a white Fleetwood Mac shirt kind of day. God, I love him in that shirt. He rarely wears short sleeves, I think it’s because he doesn’t like showing his prosthetic, but I wish he wore them more often.</p><p>I love being able to see the intricate lines of all the artwork that paints his arm and how warm his skin looks against the stark fabric of the white shirt. So tan and soft. I just <em>know</em> he’s a good hugger.</p><p>It took a lot longer to set up the front of the shop this morning, so I got to bathe in his stare for a little bit longer today. As most women can understand, when a man you’ve never even spoken to stares at you constantly it’s... pretty fuckin’ creepy to put it lightly. Because as a woman you have to constantly be on our guard against men who want to use you just because you’re there and vulnerable.</p><p>But I never feel the need to be guarded under Ponyboy’s gaze. His eyes don’t cut crassly or scan over my flesh like a primitive beast. His gaze just settles over me. Over my whole being. And it’s so peculiar to, for once in my life, finally feel <em>seen. </em>By a man I’ve never even spoken to.</p><p>But that’s my elusive Ponyboy. Tan and handsome with an aura of someone who’s lived seemingly a thousand lives, but who keeps it all to himself. He doesn’t want to burden the rest of the world with all those poetic thoughts running around his head. And yes, I’ve gotten all of that from pining after him through a window for three months. If you were a romantic novel snob who lived across the street from a dreamy, mysterious hunk like him you’d be thinking some pretty Jane Austen shit too.</p><p><em>I want him to burden me, </em>I think as I sneak a peak of him talking to those other jaw droppingly handsome coworkers of his.</p><p>Before I can get too lost in my rewritten “Outsiders” daydream of him and I cuddled up at a drive in, I see sweet Mr. Montrose ambling down the street. I step out to greet him and help him up over the step up into my shop. The historic architecture is beautiful but it’s still pretty damn old, so there’s an uneven lip that can be quite the tripping hazard.</p><p>“Y/n! Baby! How’ve ya been?” He shuffles towards me and reaches out to loop his arm in my extended one.</p><p>“Got no complaints since last week,” Mr. Montrose chuckles but grunts a little bit as he steps up into the shop, “How bout you?” I help him shuck off his green and faded gold blazer before placing it gingerly on my coat hanger. I’ve always been in awe of Mr. Montrose’s style and he always makes sure to tell me this blazer will have my name on it in his will.</p><p>“Aw I’m doin’ just peachy keen jelly-bean,” He says giving me a quick hug before wandering through the stacks and over into the poetry section. Mr. Montrose has been coming into my shop for about three months now, ever since I’ve opened, and he’s basically forced his way into becoming my adopted grandfather and settling any doubts I had about starting my life over here.</p><p>When I first opened <em>Bookends,</em> I had a lot of doubts. I had never lived in or even heard of the small northeastern town of Starkport, but the history and sweet culture of the town sucked me in immediately. And after finding out they didn’t even have a library within 30 miles of town, I knew I had found the place most deserving of my mother’s collection.</p><p>So, after only an hour of meandering the fairytale, tiny town of only 3,000 I leased one of the storefronts downtown and settled right in. Thankfully, the money I made from working two jobs after college and the inheritance I got after my dad passed was enough to put a down payment on the store downtown and the little cottage a few blocks up the road.</p><p>I met Mr. Montrose before I’d even opened the shop officially. I was carting all of my collection back and forth from my trailer and into the store early one morning, when he stopped to ask if I was planning on stocking any Dickinson. We got along right away, and he basically took over as the main male figure in my life. I say “basically” because my father wasn’t really anything like the witty, stylish older gay man I’ve come to love, who frequently brings me freshly baked scones.</p><p>
  <em>Dad would have hated this town.</em>
</p><p>“You’ve got quite the <em>audience</em> today,” Mr. Montrose smugly remarks as he catches my eyes around the endcap’s corner. I simply roll my eyes and pretend to busy myself in the window display so I can catch a glimpse of said “audience”.</p><p>Sure enough, all three men are staring into my front window unabashedly. But I still play dumb, knowing it will get a rise out of the old man.</p><p>“I must say I have <em>no idea</em> what you are talking about,” I say smiling shyly. I fiddle in front of the window display a bit longer. It’s the only semblance of quality time I get to spend with Ponyboy.</p><p>He guffaws and I hear the shuffling of his loafers against the tattered rug before I see a head peak out again. “Oh, come off it,” pointing a book accusingly at me, “That little punk over there couldn’t tell me the day of the week if I asked him while he was lookin’ at you.”</p><p>I simply smile and shake my head, knowing that he’s right, but somehow still doubting that someone could ever want me that much. That anyone could be infatuated with <em>me,</em> the know-it-all, bookish orphan who still gets acne in her late 20s.</p><p>“I think you two would be <em>real</em> sweet together,” Mr. Montrose nods to himself as I mark down his choice in my log up at the counter. <em>It’s a Sylvia Plath kind of day evidently</em>. I simply give a nonchalant hum as I enter the rental info into his account.</p><p>It’s not that I don’t agree with him, but the fear of rejection and my constant self-doubt dragging me down to the ground and even through the dirt keeps me from actively pursuing the idea of any flirting. I want to be loved. I want to know that feeling more than anything else, but I’m so afraid that I’m going to get it wrong all over again. That I’ll put my faith in the wrong person and get myself hurt. I can’t keep feeling so stupid. It really fucking bruises my intellectual ego.</p><p>“Hmm. Well,” the short, chic man softly grabs my hands from across the counter, “if you’re not gonna write that love story… then I’m just gonna have to do it for you.”</p><p>I stare at him, puzzled, and ask him what he means by that odd declaration. But he simply smiles and wishes me a good day before grabbing his jacket and waltzing out my door. It’s not until he keeps a straight course to cross the road, instead of heading left back towards his home, that I realize what that kooky old man is up to.</p><p>For a second I think about running into the street and stopping him, but then <em>I’d </em>look like the kook. So, I have to just stand here and pray to a higher power that he is not about to do what I think he’s going to do.</p><p>He’s just finally decided to get a tattoo. Mr. Montrose’s motives have nothing to do with the marvelously handsome creature that works there and the fact that I want to marry him and have his babies.</p><p>
  <em>Yeah, that’s it. He’s just getting a tattoo. He’s going through a… third-quarter life crisis…</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Oh god I can’t watch.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. A Kook Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Mr. Montrose mayyyyy have read "Emma" by Jane Austen one too many times...</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>AHH. SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG!! I drove for 7 hours to go home this weekend, so I lost a lot of my usual writing time. Buuuut my intent is to update with new chapters at least once every other week! Life is crazy busy with two jobs and being a graduating college senior, bUT Bucky is my religion and writing this story is prayer time. </p><p>**ALSO SO PUMPED FOR TFAWS!!! I wanna try and include bits and pieces (no spoilers, just cutesy references :))) as I update along with the show. Kiiiinda already put one in this chapter, let me know if you find it ;) **</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bucky hasn’t agreed to finally introduce himself to the woman but for two minutes before he’s already plotting an escape plan. He knows it’ll be basically impossible to back out now since the two knuckleheads are involved.</p><p>After Sam’s crude cheers, he and Steve began asking Bucky all sorts of follow up questions that Bucky had absolutely no <em>idea</em> how to answer.</p><p>Some were logical, helpful questions like:</p><p>
  <em>“Are you gonna ask if she’s seeing anyone?”</em>
</p><p>Some were <strong>not </strong>so helpful questions like:</p><p>
  <em>“What if she’s actually deaf? Should you bring a piece of paper and a pen just in case?”</em>
</p><p>Then some were <strong>intentionally</strong> unhelpful questions like:</p><p>
  <em>“Are you really gonna leave your hair like <strong>that?”</strong></em>
</p><p>And after Sam had critiqued Bucky’s fashion choices for a <em>third time</em>, he refused to answer any more of their questions. So, Sam and Steve left him alone at his station in the back. But they’d already done their damage and left a thousand “what-ifs” stampeding through Bucky’s brain like a thousand bulls loose in a china shop.</p><p>Because w<em>hat if </em>she’s already seeing someone? Does he just leave the store and try to pretend she hasn’t been the main character of his daydreams for the past three months? <em>What if </em>she’s deaf? Is he crazy to bring a pad and paper with him just in case? Or is he insensitive to not bring one at all? God. He gets so far into this spiral that he even thinks,</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>What if</em>
  </strong>
  <em> she doesn’t like my hair all messy and fluffed?</em>
</p><p>But above all these questions, there’s just one he can’t seem to take a mental spotlight off of; <em>What is he going to say to her when he walks in?</em></p><p>Bucky doesn’t want to just outright tell her he’s infatuated with her. One reason could be because he doesn’t want to be creepy and make her feel like the pervy tattoo guy is always watching her from across the street. Another reason is because he’s just a big, fat, fucking wimp.</p><p>So, in order to make their acquaintance as happenstance as possible, he has to lie. And that has <em>never </em>been one of Bucky’s strong suits.</p><p>He starts thinking of reasons as to why he might <em>just now</em> be coming into her store for the first time. After all, she’s too sharp to have not seen him from across the street at least <em>once </em>in the past three months.</p><p>He thinks about maybe telling her that there’s been a rise in crime in the area and offering her some free security. <em>But oh God, </em>Bucky thinks, <em>I don’t want to scare the poor girl or make her think the town has gone bad. </em>So, he nixes that idea too. Then, for some reason that’s probably due to him staying up and watching too many crime TV shows, he thinks about asking her to help search for something like a “lost puppy”.</p><p>
  <em>NOOO no no no, who the hell are you? Some kind of Dateline criminal?</em>
</p><p>He quickly vetoes that idea for fear of sounding like a predator. And also due to the fact that it might be hard to explain later on when he <em>doesn’t have</em> a puppy.</p><p>But then Bucky gets sidetracked thinking about how much she probably <em>loves </em>puppies and pets and all kinds of animals. What kind of beautiful Disney-esque princess would she be if she didn’t get along with animals?</p><p>He’s too lost in his own world to hear the chime of the front door opening and the shuffling of loafers against old oak floors.</p><p>
  <em>I wonder if the animal shelter is open this early…</em>
</p><p>“Excuse me gentlemen, may I speak with your in-house James Dean look alike?”</p><p>Bucky’s head pops up, as do the other two artists, all accompanied by shocked and slightly confused expressions. No one makes a move for a few moments as the three veterans take in Mr. Montrose’s short stature draped with his eccentric getup of a gold and green blazer along with his green suit pants to match and those trademark, polished, tan, penny loafers. He raises a bushy brow at the trio, still awaiting an answer.</p><p>While the other two men sit in stunned silence, Sam, whose sharp eagle eyes never forget a face, recognizes the man from just a few minutes before. He also recognizes the man from seeing him walk into the shop across the street almost every morning for the past three months. Sam glances across the street at <em>Bookends </em>and spots the sweet shop owner clearly trying to “casually” peer into the tattoo parlor. As the dots connect in his head a smirk begins winding up from Sam’s left cheek.</p><p>“Oh, you mean Bucky over there?” Sam’s suddenly gesturing back towards Bucky.</p><p>“Yes! That’s the man of the hour! Is he busy at all? I can just sit and wait if need be,” Mr. Montrose says with a deceivingly sweet smile.</p><p>But before Bucky could even venture a protest,</p><p>“Oh no need to wait! My man Buck is free as a bird,” Sam says while grandly sweeping his arm as a gesture for the man to walk back towards Bucky’s booth. “And he’s not scheduled till later this afternoon anyways, so take <em>all </em>the time you need.”</p><p>Bucky’s eyes bulge out at Sam’s abrupt vigor to pawn him off on this boldly, flirtatious oddball.</p><p>“Well thank you handsome,” the old man says as he shuffles slowly forward before swiftly scooping up Sam’s extended arm into a forced escort.</p><p>Steve has to stifle his chuckles at the sight of the burly ex-soldier being yanked around by this little, old, harmless man. Sam’s turns his bug-eyed gaze down towards Mr. Montrose, who smiles up at him again after they reach Bucky’s booth before patting him gently on the cheek, “And they say chivalry is dead.”</p><p>As Mr. Montrose turns to get settled in the open chair, Bucky and Sam have a comically silent argument that could’ve been cut right out of a Charlie Chaplin film. There’s lots of mouthed expletives, aggressive hand gestures and exaggerated facial expressions, but the gist is that Bucky is confused and pissed. Finally, the man settles into his seat and turns to face them, so the bickering pair lay on a calm façade.</p><p>“<em>No rush,” </em>Sam seals with a stupid smile before waltzing back to the front.</p><p>Bucky and Mr. Montrose sit in silence for a bit, as Bucky expects the extremely extroverted man to speak first. Yet, they simply continue to sit in silence. As the interaction, or lack of interaction continues, Bucky begins to shrink a bit under Mr. Montrose’s calculative gaze.</p><p>But the old man keeps a steady, kind eye, sweeping over the elusive boy-next-door. He wants to get a real good look at the kid up close to make sure Y/N’s not getting herself anywhere near heartbreak.</p><p>Dale Montrose had had his fair share of tattooed, hot headed heartbreakers and he’d be damned before he let one stomp all over that sweet woman’s heart. But despite a ruggedly handsome exterior, there’s no hiding the genuine kindness swimming in those baby blues.</p><p>“So… uh…,” Bucky finally tries to break the silence, “what can I uh… do for you today?”</p><p>Dale draws in a long breath and settles more comfortably in his chair before responding, “<em>Well, </em>I’m not sure. I think we could start with a few basic questions.”</p><p>Bucky, hesitantly falling into the normal consultation routine, nods along and flips open his leather-bound sketchbook. “Sure, let’s get right into it,” he grabs the already opened ball point pen lying on his dark wood desk, preparing to ask the man what kind of design he was thinking about or if he had any style preferences.</p><p>“You an only child?”</p><p>Bucky whips his head up at that, and stares in silent bewilderment before realizing the man was still patiently waiting for an answer.</p><p>“No… I uh have three siblings. A sister and two brothers,” Bucky nods placatingly before continuing, “This your first tattoo?” Mr. Montrose nods swiftly in response then leans back and gracefully folds his arms.</p><p>“You drink coffee or tea?”</p><p>Bucky gives the man another puzzled look, but tentatively responds, “… Both?” The old charmer gives him a look that requests elaboration. “I usually save coffee for the mornings and tea for nighttime… helps me sleep.”</p><p>They both settle into a bit of prolonged silence again while the old “kook” studies him intently, so Bucky takes this as a que to continue the anything-but-normal consultation. “Do you know where you might want the tattoo placement wise?”</p><p>Mr. Montrose waves dismissively, “Eh somewhere on an arm is good. How do you feel about kids?” And now Bucky doesn’t even try to hide his confusion and flustering at the question.</p><p>“Wha-… Yo-…<em> What?</em>”</p><p>Dale just bobbles his head and prompts, “You like em’? They like you? You want em’ someday?”</p><p>Bucky has no clue <em>what in the fuck</em> could be going on right now, but he’s too polite to say that, so he slowly toes his way through the onslaught of questioning.</p><p>“Yeah… I hope, and… well, someday yeah of cours- I’m sorry I’m just sort of confused as to what any of <em>that</em> has to do with what kind of tattoo you want.”</p><p>And yet Bucky is once again given the calculative silent treatment; although, this time it seems to be accompanied by a knowing smile.</p><p>“You a reader at all in your spare time?” <em>And the questions just keep on coming.</em> “You know, when you’re not shirtless and polishing convertibles or chopping wood or whatever it is you handsome men do.”</p><p>Bucky, trying not to blush, just honestly shakes his head, “I used to read all the time as a kid, but I guess I just… never picked it back up after being discharged. Though, I’d love to get back into it.”</p><p>Dale nods approvingly, “You ever read any Dickinson?”</p><p>“Nah, mostly just uh…prose…or uh fiction…,” Dale blankly stares, “Ya, know… like <em>The Hobbit.”</em></p><p>“Hmm,” Dale settles his arms on the desk and leans forward, “Well, she’s no Gandalf the White,” Bucky gives a light chuckle, “but Dickinson was incredibly wise when she wrote, <em>“Not knowing when the dawn will come, I open every door.””</em></p><p>Bucky unconsciously flits his gaze past the man’s shoulders and lingers on the emerald green door across the street. It’s chipped and charming and slightly raised from the street by an uneven lip of concrete. The gateway to a new era of life and love and it’s just steps away.</p><p>Dale smiles at Bucky’s wistful gaze and in his heart he knows she’s in good hands.</p><p>“<em>Well, </em>you know if you’re looking to get back into the reading game you could always ask Y/N across the street for recommendations! I’m sure she’d be <em>more </em>than willing to help you out.”</p><p>Those blue eyes check back into the world after hearing <em>her</em> name for the first time, and then the brilliance of what Mr. Montrose has just suggested hits Bucky all at once.</p><p>“YES! THAT’S PERFECT!” For the first time since he walked into the <em>Howling Commandos</em> Mr. Montrose is the one who’s shocked.</p><p>“Sorry, I mean uh…Yes, that’s perfect and so… coincidental. I’ll be sure to head over there sometime,” Bucky says, beaming with confidence now that he has a plan of approach.</p><p>Dale, having accomplished his mission, promptly stands and grabs his blazer, “Well then, that <em>is </em>perfect! Good luck!”</p><p>Bucky, confused yet again, tries to stop Mr. Montrose as he hurriedly shuffles out of the parlor, “Wait, you haven’t told me what you want for your tattoo!”</p><p>Without even turning around to face him, the old man throws a hand back dismissively, “Ah I can’t get one I just remembered … I’m Jewish! If I’ve got a tattoo they won’t bury me in the family plot!” And with that grandiose exit he’s out the door.</p><p>The shop stays quiet for a beat before-</p><p>“Buck, what in the <em>hell</em> was that about?”</p><p>“I don’t know!””</p><p>“<em>Sooo…Y/N huh.”</em></p><p>“I mean REALLY, what was that about?”</p><p>“I REALLY don’t know!”</p><p>
  <em>“’Y/N Barnes’ has a real nice ring to it don’t you think so Bucky?”</em>
</p><p>“SAM!”</p><p>"SAM!"</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Great Cute Meet</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Y/N gets ready for just another regular peaceful night when she gets an unexpected visitor...</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>g u y s... I'm so sorry about the delay on this one. 1.) I couldn't decide how i wanted to end it and i kept being nit-picky with it 2.) it's my final week of school... ever (lol until i go back for Grad school and more debt) soooo things are bonkers atm. BUT with long pause comes great reward, the moment we've been waiting for :))))</p><p>**also it is SO much harder to make cute chapter titles based off of classic book titles than i originally thought***</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The day is long, and I get so wrapped up in excitement over opening my latest book order that I don’t realize the sun has already set. This is one of my favorite parts of the workday, when it’s so late that no one ever comes wandering in, and I can just take time to unwind. It’s the only free time I get to work in my “creative space”.</p><p>The cottage I’m renting down the street is pretty small, so there’s really no room for all my dedicated “hobbying tools”. I seem to pick up a new hobby every few months. For years I’ve been slowly accumulating knitting needles and paint brushes and basically enough junk to call this place a craft-store that just <em>happens </em>to sell books, if I wanted to.</p><p>As the daylight dims out and the shop goes quiet, I start the nightly routine. For the past few months I’ve really been into crocheting, so tonight I pull my crochet hook and some midnight blue yarn out of the little bin stored behind the front counter. I walk over to the little reading nook near the front of the store.</p><p>It would be the most perfect spot for a bay window, but who knows how much money that would take. And carpentry isn’t really a “hobby” I think I could pick up so easily.</p><p>But it’s still cozy with it’s two worn, wing-back chairs; one a rusted orange and the other a forest green. In between them sits a teeny coffee table just big enough to hold my turntable. I found the chairs <em>and </em>the table at an estate sale when I first came to town. Honestly, it’s were I got most of my furniture from. Small towns can be a little scary at first, but God are they great for vintage finds.</p><p>I set my materials in the orange chair, my un-assigned “assigned” hobbying seat, and crouch down to finger through my vinyls. I usually play music in the shop to keep me company when it’s slow, but I always put on a record when it’s unwinding time<em>. </em>Today is one of those days where I just can’t decide on what to listen to.</p><p>
  <em>Nat King Cole, too sleepy. Heart, too jumpy. Jimmy Buffett, too… when did I buy a Jimmy Buffett record?</em>
</p><p>I’m just in one of those ruts where you can’t tell what song your soul is craving and so you sit and wait for your brain to figure out what the hell your soul wants to listen to.</p><p>Finally, my fingers pause, mid-peruse, on an album cover I had just seen earlier this morning.</p><p><em>Perfect</em>.</p><p>I slide the old record out with the utmost care and lower it onto the turntable. As Lindsey Buckingham’s mellow guitar fills the room, I settle into my plushy throne and pick up where I left off on my last crochet square.</p><p>The reason this part of the day is so special is because I can turn off my brain and just <em>be </em>with my thoughts. I don’t have to put them to use. I don’t have to over think every interaction I have or every action I take. I can just enjoy where my mind takes me.</p><p>My mind takes its’ usual journey down a foolish, pining daydream as I realize that the dark blue of the yarn in my hands would look so lovely against inked and golden skin. It’s a soft image I begin to paint in my mind of <em>him</em>, wrapped up in a blanket of this blue, curled up by a fire with a mug of something sweet warming his hands.</p><p>I used to think all this daydreaming was a bad thing, and there’s no doubt that it can be. <em>Sometimes. </em>But one of the first things my therapist told me was that I shouldn’t be ashamed of finding comfort in daydreaming.</p><p><em>It’s a very common coping mechanism, </em>she would say, <em>especially for trauma survivors</em>.</p><p>She would explain to me that it’s our minds way of protecting us from painful memories and that we shouldn’t punish ourselves for having these thoughts and fantasies. These “daydreams” can help us spark creativity and help us safely solve problems we might be overthinking in our heads. And <em>I</em> tend to overthink… well everything.</p><p>She often told me that these dreams were a great tool in self-discovery. She wanted me to use these dreams to safely introspect on what makes me truly happy<em>.</em></p><p>Her only words of caution to me were that when these dreams include real people, or when they are achievable, they are only healthy if we work towards them in <em>reality</em>.</p><p>
  <em>I mean… <strong>technically </strong>I’m working towards talking to him…</em>
</p><p>To which my therapist would respond, “Okay, and <em>how</em> have you been doing that?”</p><p>
  <em>We uhh… make eye contact… sometimes.</em>
</p><p>Which wouldn’t really elicit a response from her, but more so an unimpressed expression.</p><p>I really do want to meet him and talk to him and hold him and just <em>behold him. </em>But everything about it, about giving myself to him, is too high stakes.</p><p>I have him in my dreams and he’s wonderful and soothing and he smells like clean linens. And I want him in my reality, but what if he’s nothing like that. What if when I gain him in reality, I lose him in my dreams? What if I lose him completely?</p><p>What happens then?</p><p>Before I even get the chance to dig myself into a sadder hole, I am scared half to death at the sound of my door chimes tinkling followed by a loud thud.</p><p>I jump out of my seat with my crochet hook pointed at the intruder only to see <em>him </em>lying there, face down, on my shop floor.</p><p>
  <em>Great, I must have been a sorceress in a past life. I thought about him so hard I conjured him here.</em>
</p><p>Ponyboy turns his head as he pushes himself off the floor and sees me standing a few feet away. He doesn’t say anything for a long time. We’re just both silently locked into each other.</p><p>I can <em>see </em>him. For the first time, I can look at him without having to turn away at a moment’s notice in case he sees me back. We’ve just silently agreed to openly gaze in awe at one another. It’s the first time I’ve felt the world <em>pause.</em></p><p>After it feels like we’ve spent three lifetimes together, his eyes finally flit down to the “weapon” in my hands that’s still limply pointed at him.</p><p>A smirk colors his expression and he chuckles before moving to finally stand back up.</p><p>“You got a permit for that thing?”</p><p>I, still in shock from his abrupt entrance and drunk off his close proximity, blink a few times before settling the once pointed hand on my hip and cocking a smirk right back.</p><p>“As a matter of fact, I do. The Craft Yarn Council sent me a letter of authenticity with this hook.”</p><p>
  <em>It’s true, they really did. I got a coupon for embroidery hoops too, but that doesn’t play into the bit as well.</em>
</p><p>He smiles, <em>his SMILE, </em>and laughs, <em>his LAUGH.</em></p><p><em>“</em>Well, I really am sorry for making you draw your <em>weapon</em>. I guess I must have… tripped,” he says while giving an oddly aggressive side eye to my front door.</p><p>“Oh, don’t worry about it. That damn lip in the doorway catches just about everyone off guard,” I say as I finally set down my hook.</p><p>Once again, we’ve fallen into the ray of each other’s gaze and we stand in silence. The first time I got a good look at him I was only focused on his eyes. This time I make an effort to take in everything else. His hair is long, dark and gelled back, adorably, behind his ears. He’s got a bit of stubble that accents a sharp jaw line and high set cheekbones. <em>UGH, those CHEEKBONES.</em></p><p>I could spend all day like this, and something tells me he could too. But I’m too curious, and so I break the silence and forfeit precious oogling time to ask the burning question.</p><p>“<em>Sooo</em>… what sent you falling into my shop tonight?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>NOW i have no choice but to write/update more because !!! I WANT TO WRITE THEM BEING CUTE TOGETHER FOREVER AND ALWAYS !!!</p><p>also if y'all see me using taylor swift/ harry styles lyrics for inspo when i write... :))) no you don't :)))</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hope you enjoyed!!!! sorry in advance to any of you who might come back for a re-read because I am definitely gonna just harshly reread this and make tiny edits on grammar or phrasing so i don't explode</p><p>***buuut i had SO much fun writing this chapter, and I can't promise anything BUT i want to try and update at least once a week. it won't be a consistent update day, but sometimes i might upload more than just once a week. i'm a graduating senior in college so that's my main focus atm (lol sorta), but this is my free therapy sooooo don't worry i won't abandon this work, she is my saving escape!! ***</p><p>also prepare for this series to have at least 10 chapters, maybe more depending on how utterly obsessed i become with tattoo artist/softy Bucky :)))... so MOST LIKELY more than 10....</p></blockquote></div></div>
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